was warning me not to argue—“and you have resilience and strength to get through anything. Yeah, you chose the wrong guy, but what happened last night is on Ian, not you.”
I stiffened and my throat tightened. Those were tough truths to swallow. I opened my mouth to defend my self-pity, but Ry stood up.
“Don’t talk down about yourself. I won’t tolerate it. So quit it.”
I shut my mouth and nodded without thinking.
“Good.” A tiny twinkle of a grin pulled at his lips. “Hit the shower and help yourself to my closet. I’ll make breakfast.”
He left me in a haze of tingles and throbbing arousal at the base of my spine. I liked clear directions. I liked taking orders even more.
In the shower, I took a moment to gather my wits, tried to keep my hand off my dick and my mind off Ry. The hot water washed away the night before. I was fresh as I dried off and wandered into the adjoining bedroom.
Ry’s bedroom was exactly what I would have expected. A king-size bed with dark gray linens and a steel headboard; a stack of books on a small table; a television on a bureau that looked like it hadn’t been turned on in years; luxurious cushy carpet ; and a walk-in closet with nothing but monochrome from floor to ceiling. I chose a white shirt to go over my own tight black jeans and wriggled into my clothes in there.
Looking in the full-length, well-lit mirror, I felt cute - even with a busted lip and a dark splotch around my eye. The shirt was too big, but I loved it. It felt like Ry was hugging my whole body. I rolled up the loose sleeves and tucked in the front in a French tuck, giving it a little shape. I nodded to my reflection in approval. It looked good.
As I padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, I brought the collar of the shirt up to my nose, inhaled deeply, and almost fell over from the smell of his cologne and clothes detergent. Cedar, gin, and amber.
I passed my painting on his hallway wall and was looking back at it when I came out into the bright sunlit kitchen. It was the only pop of color in the whole house. The place was modern and stylish, but cold to the eye.
“You hung my painting.” I was surprised, and let my tone show it as I clambered up onto a stool behind the kitchen counter.
“Of course I did.” Ry glanced up from the stove. “I love it.”
The sincerity in his voice made my heart jitter and I gripped the edge of the counter as I managed to hold back a beaming smile and gave him a polite, not over-the-top grin.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
He made scrambled eggs with practiced ease and served it on perfectly toasted bread. Completely silent. Normally I felt awkward around people who didn’t speak much, always unsure where I stood with them or if I was doing something annoying. But it wasn’t like that with Ry. I felt totally comfortable watching him cook, with my elbow on the counter and my chin in my hand.
After he plated breakfast, he motioned for me to join him at the kitchen table. The food was amazing. As good as anything Eli dished up, though I’d never tell my brother anyone came close to his cooking skills.
I dove in and devoured most of it before Ry started. He smiled proudly, like he was happy I clearly enjoyed it. We ate together, also in silence, and I caught him stealing glances at me, while I was trying to steal some at him.
“What’s your plan?” he asked as he piled eggs onto his toast.
“Um. Finish this, go home and get to work. I’ve got my show coming up, and it’s stressing me out.”
Ry set his fork down and looked at me with a sternness I’d never seen on his already deeply serious face before. “You need to press charges. And get Derek or Owen to check you over.”
I blew out a sigh and shook my head. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”
Ry scowled deeper, his brow so furrowed it looked like palette knife cuts in thick-set oil paint.
“Okay, yes. You’re right, I do need to press charges.” I was nervous and shaken up, but I wasn’t going to let Ian and his friends get away with what they did. I just didn’t really know how to go about it, and the thought of